The Death of Diamond
by Arsino
Summary: During the fleeting moments between sacrificing himself for Sailor Moon and dying, Prince Diamond reflects upon his life.


_Hola. Few notes A) the formatting may drive you _crazy_, but the story is intended to be disjointed. Granted, I've never died, but I imagine the thought process isn't very clear. B) Like my other one-shot, this little thing has nothing to do with the monster that is "Eudaimonia." It was written for kicks and giggles. Dare I say that Diamond is a tad on the kind of decent side. Gasp! The horror. Enjoy, my friend! _

_Takes place after Diamond received a killing blow from Wiseman. _

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Before tonight, I have died a thousand times. With each wane of the glowing sun on the horizon, I discovered myself in the icy grip of Death, unable to find the will to live – each day that has passed without her by my side has torn the soul from my body.

To live without her is to wallow in death. She is the very essence of my life, the only reason I rise in the morning.

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On this night, as the day ebbs away, I am deeply entangled in my habitual routine. Another rotation of the planet on its axis has found me empty and without her; therefore, I, Diamond, Prince of the Black Moon Clan, am dying.

Tonight is different, however. I close my eyes with the realization I shall not open them tomorrow. My heart, unable to fight the pain anymore, is slowing its pace; my body is shutting down. This is the final time my soul will be embroiled in the pain of unrequited love.

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This Death, the separation of my soul from my wounded body, is permanent.

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Searing, scorching pain radiates through my entire being. There is no beginning or end, just pain. At first, the stinging was endurable, but as I slip closer to the end, it has become unmanageable and unbearable. I feel my muscles contrast and relax, twitching and convulsing in response to the pain. Each movement, made without my consent, adds to the horrible sensation that now dominates my existence.

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I cannot go on.

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This pain heralds the termination of my short existence, and I will welcome any relief.

I assume I am closer to death than ever before, since a lightness begins to permeate my mind. I feel weightless as air, and I can only speculate my soul is attempting to separate from my damaged body.

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But no, I am still alive, still dying.

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The pain, so terrible and agonizing, is fading. Along with this realization comes another: My body is succumbing to the calls of Death, yielding its will to live.

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It is terrifying to sense one's end, and I am nothing but scared.

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As the intense sting of my wounds diminish, another sensation takes its place, a sinister freeze. Unlike the pain, I can determine the origin of the chill. It begins at the center my being, my heart, and it travels from my core and leisurely makes its way to my limbs, destroying everything in its wake, effectively killing me. This is the last brief moments of my life.

The action of receiving my death blow seemed so natural, so appropriate. To die for love is unsurpassable in its nobility; my love shall be able to fulfill her destiny. This idea was, of course, formulated when my body was whole and wholly alive. Now, upon being faced by my own mortality, with only few precious moments to live, the folly of my ways is tormenting.

My eyes, already closed in eternal slumber, see nothing. As I approach whatever lies on the other side of Death, I shall be escorted by darkness and the cold.

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To die alone is a terrible fate.

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There is a sound far away, and I strain to here what it is.

A voice, soft and gentle.

Someone is whispering to me, and I can faintly feel the tender touch of a hand stroking my hair. A memory, so bright and clear it is almost tangible, flares in my mind. I am not alone; the one I am dying for, my love, my angel, is here with me, softly caressing my head.

She thinks I am dead, she must. It has been several moments since I spoke or even attempted to draw breath - I am precariously balancing between barely living and being dead. However, she has remained with my body, delicately cradling me. She is nothing but an angel, a glowing and beautiful angel.

I wish to open my eyes and see her one more time, but my eyes no longer respond to the wishes of my brain. Instead, I ignore the awful cold and attempt to focus on the sweet ministrations of my love. Surely she can feel my bones settling and my skin become chilled, yet she remains.

The Universe put me in her path, for what reason I do not know. I was never destined to live my life with her, or to have her in any way; she belongs to another and will always be his. This I know now, but I was still placed in her life for some reason. Or perhaps she was placed in my life.

I curse myself for attempting to ponder the ways of the Universe, for now I have lost nearly all sensation, and I have spent too much energy thinking. I can no longer feel her, the cold, or the pain. There is nothing, just the ability to think, and that is becoming harder. My thoughts are fuzzy.

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Love, that is her purpose. My whole life, so empty and trivial, gained its purpose at the very end of its journey. To love is the reason for being, for existing.

I love her.

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It has been said that Heaven, if it exists, knows no time. If the Universe deems me worthy, maybe she will be there, too, already.

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Tonight I am dying, but for this moment, as she clings to my corpse, she is mine.


End file.
